


A Smaller Con

by annagarny



Category: White Collar
Genre: Elizabeth gets to be a mom, Gen, Neal is a Teenager, cross post, de-aged fic, shameless shopping trip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-20
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 08:04:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annagarny/pseuds/annagarny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Neal isn't in the office on time, Peter goes looking for him and instead finds a sixteen-year-old.</p><p>It's a city-wide problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Where the hell is Caffrey?" Peter demanded, addressing the conference room in general. He was already onto his second coffee, and although Neal liked to occasionally be exactly on time every few days just to annoy his handler, he was rarely so late. The agents gathered to go over the case files all gave him blank looks, and Agent Burke made an impatient noise, wondering to himself what the hell was going on that had caused Neal to run, so far, at least forty minutes late.

"Jones!" Peter snapped, making Clinton sit up and almost drop the case file he had been reading. "Go get his tracking data, I want to know where he is that's so much more important than work."

Jones got to his feet and stepped past Peter into his office, waking the computer up and opening the program that provided the White Collar Unit with a live feed of their pet convict's GPS tracker. What came up on the screen confused him, so he stuck his head back into the conference room and got Peter's attention.

"What?"  
"You better take a look at this."  
"Has he broken his radius again? Why haven't the marshals called, yet?" Peter demanded, pushing past Jones into the office and leaning over to look at the screen.

After reading the address in the bottom corner of the screen, twice, and using his finger to trace the street lines surrounding the blinking green dot, Peter's eyebrows began to knit together in frustration. According to the anklet, Neal was inside the FBI building at Federal Plaza, just off Lafayette St in Manhattan's financial district... and he'd been there almost an hour.

"He's here?"  
"Apparently." Jones supplied, not sure what to say.  
"But not here. Where the heck is he?" Peter glared at the screen for a few seconds, before an idea sparked in his mind.

"Stay here, call me if the dot moves. I'll be right back." Peter grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and exited the office at speed, sliding his arms through the sleeves as Jones called out after him.  
"What? Do you know where he is?"

"No idea. But the receptionist in the lobby makes goo-goo-eyes at him every single morning, if he's in the building she'll know when he came in, at least." Peter called over his shoulder as he descended the stairs into the bull-pen, making for the elevators .

Why couldn't those trackers work in three dimensions and tell him at least what floor of the building Neal was on? It was a big building, and even though most of White Collar knew who Caffrey was, not many other departments could tell the CI's from the agents, unless they asked for a badge. Peter fumed silently for most of the descent, wondering why the heck Neal was inside the FBI building if he wasn't in the conference room making wisecracks about their current case.

"Good morning, Agent Burke!" the perky blonde receptionist greeted him as he approached, and Peter made the effort to give her what he hoped was a passably sincere smile.  
"Good morning, Heidi. Have you seen Neal this morning?"  
"Uh, not this morning, but it's a good thing you came down, I was just about to call you." she picked up a piece of paper and read a few lines off of it. "Jay from building security said that there's a young man in Interview Room Two who's asking for you. They caught him trying to sneak past security and he's refusing to answer any questions- he's just saying your name over and over again."  
"But you haven't seen Neal?"  
"Not today, Agent Burke."  
"And there's a kid in Interview Two who's asking for me?" Peter racked his brains, but try as he might he couldn't think of anyone he knew who had a teenager, let alone someone who knew that he worked for the Bureau. He glanced across the lobby towards the small, windowless rooms that were labelled as 'Interview Rooms' but were more like semi-secure holding cells for people who tried to gain access to the Federal building without authorisation.  
"Yes, it says here that he looks about fourteen, and is refusing to answer any questions." Heidi told him, glancing at her piece of paper.

"I don't know any teenagers" Peter muttered, half to himself, but stepped away from the reception desk and crossed the lobby towards the interview rooms, knocking on the door of number two.

"Agent Burke, I was just about to get Heidi to call you, we've got a bit of a situation here." The burly building security guard greeted Peter as he exited the interview room, closing the door rather hurriedly behind him.  
"A situation?"  
"A teenager."  
"How is a teenager a situation?" Peter's patience was beginning to run thin.  
"Uh, maybe you should see for yourself." Jay stepped aside and opened the door, motioning Peter inside.

A scrawny dark-haired kid was sitting on the opposite side of the interview table, feet on the edge of the chair he was sitting on, hugging his knees and staring at the door. As soon as he saw Peter he leapt to his feet and rounded the table at a rate of knots.

"Peter, they finally called you!" The kid flung himself onto Agent Burke, hugging him tight enough to make Peter squeak in protest and confusion. Already confused enough by the presence of a teenager, apparently one who knew him, Peter began to panic a little when the kid gripped him like a life-buoy.

"Hey, kid, who are you?" Peter pulled back a little, pushing the kid away from him with both hands on his shoulders, trying to get a better look at him.

"Peter, it's me!"  
"Look, I don't know how you think you know me, but I have no idea who you are!"

The kid sighed, stepping away from the agent, and pulled himself up to sit on the table. Peter felt a twinge of recognition as he looked into the kid's bright blue eyes- maybe he was a relative of Elizabeth's? A cousin, or a nephew of some description?

"Peter, it's me, Neal. Your pet convict?" The kid lifted his left foot and planted it on the chair closest to Peter, pulling up the pants leg to display a sleek, shiny black tracking anklet, the green LED shining bright.

"Where the hell did you get that?" Peter asked, pointing at the tracker.

The kid sighed again, as if he were explaining something simple to someone who was a little slow.

"I've been wearing it for the last year and a half while I've been your consultant here, in the White Collar division. And even at this size I still can't get the damn thing off." The kid grabbed the anklet and twisted it around, pulling it towards his heel, but it got stuck on his ankle bone and refused to leave his leg.

"Look, kid, I don't know how much Neal is paying you to do this, but you're wasting my time and I've got a case to solve, so you call him and tell him to get his ass down here in the next fifteen minutes or I'm sending him back to prison."

"I know you've got a case, Peter, the stolen Rembrandt from 101st st, it's not going well because there was virtually no physical evidence and they somehow got past the motion detectors... not to mention the three dozen forgeries that have shown up on the black market in the last 48 hours."

Peter paused, one hand on the doorknob.

"Well, I'll give you this much, the pair of you must have done some serious preparation for this one. Did Mozzie help with the memorizing?"

"Mozzie's not involved, Peter. I'm telling you, I woke up this morning, at June's place, in my favourite blue pyjamas, like this!"

Peter let go of the door handle and turned to face the kid properly.

"Look, kid, it's great that you're sticking with this, it shows real dedication to the con, but Neal's got to know that there's no way I'd buy anything this far-fetched."

The kid looked at him, deadpan.

"Exactly."

Peter stared at the kid for a few seconds, before narrowing his eyes and letting out a derisive snort.

"Nice try. Get out of my building and give Caffrey back his anklet, and tell him he's got one hour to get into my office before I call his bluff and order the marshals to return him to prison."

"Peter! Dammit, Peter, it's me! Run my prints if you have to, I'm Neal Caffrey!"

Peter sighed and turned to leave, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.

"Your wife's name is Elizabeth, and she runs an events company called Burke Premier Events, Mozzie thought it was a front for you but she's incredibly good at what she does. You've got a yellow labrador at home, his name's Satchmo and he's got a brown collar with a blue leash. Diana was your probie when I first started working with you, but then she moved to DC and Loren Cruz replaced her. You asked her to come back to New York when I stole the music box from the Italian Consulate. You were with me at the hangar down near the river when the jet blew up."

Peter turned around slowly, looking the kid straight in the eye. He was still skeptical, but impressed with the variety of information that he'd apparently memorized.

"Run my prints, Peter, that's all I ask."

Peter shook his head slightly, as if to clear it, unable to believe that he was actually considering indulging this teenager. He decided, after almost a solid minute of silence, to humor the kid at the very least.

"Stay here. I'll go get a computer."

Peter closed the door of the interview room behind him, waving away the security guard and wondering to himself why he was actually doing this. There was no way that kid was actually Caffrey, and Peter was trying to figure out what kind of con would require the use of a teenaged double to pretend to be Neal.

Diana met him just outside the elevators, walking with him across the White Collar unit as he tried to explain what was apparently happening, without sounding completely crazy.

"So this kid is claiming that he's Caffrey?"  
"Yep."  
"And he's wearing the anklet to prove it?"  
"That's the long and short of it, yeah."  
"So, now you're going to take a print panel down there and get his prints?"  
"Well, if nothing else it will prove that Caffrey's slipped his anklet, and I'll be able to send him back to prison as punishment for messing with me like this."  
"Good point, boss. I'll grab the scanner. Where's he being held?"  
"Interview Two, just off the lobby."

"Meet you down there."

Peter paused outside Interview Two, listening, one eyebrow raised.

Was that laughter?

Diana had beaten him back downstairs by an entire elevator ride, so she'd been in with the kid alone for a good few minutes. But what the heck were they laughing about?

Peter elbowed the door open and the laughter stopped rather abruptly.

"Hey, boss."  
"Hey, Peter."  
Peter just nodded at the pair of them, setting the laptop down on the table and holding a hand out towards Diana for the glass print panel. He connected it to the computer and waited for the program to start up, before pushing the panel across the desk towards the kid.

"Start with your left thumb, just roll it across the panel, nice and slow."  
"Peter, beleive it or not, I have had my fingerprints taken before." the kid commented, sarcastic.

"Just roll your thumb over the glass and stop being a smart-mouth." Peter snapped, watching the screen as the fingerprint rendered and the program began to query the database.

It took less than a minute for a mug-shot to pop up.

"Neal Caffrey, age 32, convicted of bond forgery, currently on work-release in the custody of the FBI." Peter muttered to himself, and his head began to hurt as the reality of the situation, not to mention the implications of what was happening, slowly dawned on him.

The result was an explosion of something akin to fury.

"What the hell is going on? How did you do that?" Peter demanded, rounding on the kid. Diana stood up and moved so that she was between them.

"Peter, I checked both his hands when I came in- he's not faking anything."  
"You're telling me that this scrawny fourteen year old is Neal Caffrey?"  
"What other explanation is there? The computer's wrong?"

Peter growled, low in his throat, and began to pace in the small room.

"Neal - if that is you - how the hell did this happen? Why do you look fourteen?" His ears had turned red and he was running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Believe me, Peter, if I knew, I would be bottling whatever caused this and have a patent pending so I could sell it at Sak's, but I have no idea. I woke up this morning looking like this."  
"Well, what did you do last night? Anything unusual?"  
"Well, Mozzie came over, we had half a bottle of wine and he went home around midnight. I finished off a painting then I went to bed, nothing unusual."

"Yet somehow you woke up fourteen."  
"Actually, I think I'm closer to sixteen, I didn't start growing facial hair until I was in tenth grade." Neal ran a hand over his jaw as he spoke, and Peter noticed the peach-fuzz on the kid's chin.

"So, what's the plan, boss?" Diana asked, pulling Peter back to reality with an uncomfortable jolt.

"Oh, right." He paused, staring at the wall, deep in thought.

"Well, I can't come upstairs, not in these clothes. These pants are practically falling off of me." Neal illustrated his point by pulling at the waistband, even though they weren't much too long he was able to fold a good two inches of the material back on itself between the belt keepers.

"Neal, you can't come upstairs full stop, you're a teenager. What the hell do you think Hughes would say if I bought an unaccompanied minor into White Collar?"  
"Well, I can't go back to June's, it was tricky enough talking my way out of breakfast this morning."

Peter looked at Diana and realised that whatever plan they made might have a gaping hole in it- there was an unexplained teenager being held in an interview room of the FBI's Manhattan office. After a few more moments' thought, Peter grasped the door handle and left the room.

"Stay put, both of you. I'm calling Elle."

Diana looked at Neal, his thumb still pressed to the glass print-panel.

"You're in trouble, he's calling mommy!" she teased him, making him glower.

"That's all well and good, but their house is in Brooklyn. How the hell is he going to explain to the Marshals that I'm traipsing after Elizabeth rather than him?"  
"That- that's a damn good question." Diana conceded.

They sat there in silence, both pondering what Peter might be planning, and after a minute or so Peter returned, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

"Okay, Elle's on her way, and I've even got a cover story worked out for you."  
"What, did you tell her?" Neal was, understandably, a little concerned.

"I've only told her that you're sick, and that I need her to take you to our place and look after you, which is exactly what I'm telling Reese. For all intents and purposes, you've got the flu and Elle's taking care of you at our house for the next couple of days."

"So she doesn't know that I'm-"

"A teenager? No, I thought it'd be better to tell her that particular little tidbit in person. She'll be here in about twenty minutes. You head back up, Diana, I'll stay here and keep an eye on him."  
"Okay, boss. Call me if you need anything." Diana smiled at Neal once more before leaving the room, making for the elevators with a grin.

"Hey, Peter?"

"Yes, Neal?"  
"You wouldn't happen to have any clothes that might fit me at your place, would you?"  
"Why would I have clothes that would fit a teenager?"  
"Oh, no reason."

After a moment, Peter sighed and asked the question.

"Do you want Elizabeth to take you and get some clothes that fit?"  
"Oh, that'd be great! I forgot how scrawny I was when I was a kid- this shirt is like a potato sack."

"Why don't we tell her that you've finally reverted to a physical form that matches your mentality before we worry too much about your wardrobe, hey?"

"Oh, come on, Peter, I'm not asking for Armani, just some jeans that won't fall down!"  
"Look, I'll think about it, but it probably won't matter, it's not like you'll be out in public, anyway."  
"What do you mean?"  
"Well, I'm telling Hughes that you're sick, so you'll be restricted to the house until we sort all of this out."  
"But, we've got no idea how long I'll be stuck like this! You can't keep me cooped up in your house indefinitely!"  
"Sure I can, it's the best option for everyone."  
"Not for me!"  
"Oh, stop being so dramatic. Stay put, that'll be Elle, I want to break this to her gently."

Peter got up from his chair to answer the door, careful to slip out without allowing Elizabeth to see the interior of the interview room.


	2. Chapter 2

"What do you mean, he's sixteen?" Even through the door of Interview Two, Elizabeth sounded incredulous, and a little shrill with it.

"I mean, he looks like a teenager."  
"Peter, what are you talking about, he's thirty-something, how can he look like a teenager?" She was almost laughing through the last few words, and Peter decided to give up.  
"Maybe you better see for yourself."

Peter opened the door of Interview Two and Elizabeth stepped inside. She looked at Neal, and her eyes narrowed, before she rounded on Peter.

"Okay, where's Neal? What kind of prank are you two pulling?"

"Elizabeth, it's me." Neal put in, getting up from the table. She looked at him for a moment, and while she was concentrating on him Neal lifted his left foot and showed her the anklet. "See?"

"Look, I don't know what you two are up to, but that-" she pointed at the anklet, "-shows real commitment to the con."

Neal sighed. He'd only explained the situation to two people so far and already he was over it.

"Look, Elle, you want me to prove it?"

The derisive snort that Elizabeth let out was so similar to the noise Peter made when he was impatient that Neal had trouble believing that it had come from her. "How the heck could you prove it?"

Neal stood up and stepped over to Elizabeth, leaned in close and whispered something in her ear.

She turned scarlet, and her eyes flicked over towards Peter before she looked back at Neal, who had stepped back and was half-sitting on the table, arms crossed over his chest and a smug grin playing at his features.

"Okay, I believe you- there's no way in hell that Neal would have told a sixteen year old what you just said." She turned to look at Peter. "So, you've told Reese that he's sick?"  
"And that you're taking care of him for a few days, so Reese is telling the Marshals to expect the anklet to stay in and around our house for the time being."

"Okay, then. Good thing I'm not too busy this week. Come on, Neal, let's get you home."

"Thanks, Elle." Peter gave his wife a kiss as she left, and Neal rolled his eyes, looking every inch the petulant teenager forced to witness a public display of affection between adults. Elle caught Neal by the hand and led him out of Bureau offices, Neal hitching his pants up every few steps as they crossed the plaza towards Lafayette.

They were getting into the cab when Elizabeth noticed the problem.

"You're a pretty scrawny teenager." she commented, watching him hook a thumb through a belt keeper to prevent his pants from falling down as he got into the cab.

"Peter tells me that I'm still scrawny at thirty." Neal muttered, tugging the pants straight.

"Of course he would. Are these all the clothes you have?"  
"These were the first clothes I grabbed - I was in such a hurry to leave June's place that I didn't even put on a belt."

"Oh, sweetie." Elle looked at him once more, before she pulled out her cell phone and dialled Peter.

"Honey? We're making a few stops on the way home, Neal needs some clothes."  
Even through the phone Peter sounded impatient - Neal couldn't make out the words, but he knew that Peter was arguing against a shopping trip.  
"So tell him that I had to run some errands before I could take Neal home. We'll be at the house before lunchtime, okay? I love you!"

She ended the call over further protests from her husband and smiled at Neal.

"Don't you ever try that, he'll shoot you where you stand." she warned him, returning the phone to her purse with a smile. "We're making a stop." she told the driver, and gave him an address in the Village.

"Did you remember to grab your wallet in your hurry to leave June's place?"

Neal reached into his pants pocket and extracted a brown leather wallet, flipping it open and grinning before showing Elizabeth the ID.

"You grabbed Nick Halden? How old is he?"  
"Twenty eight." Neal told her, consulting the ID and checking the credit cards in the slots before opening the back half to look for cash. "And he's got some extensive resources- there's a few hundred dollars in here."  
"You'll never pass for twenty eight." Elizabeth told him. "But the money will help. What else is in there?"  
"Amex, VISA and his key card for the account he holds at Chase Manhattan." Neal pulled the cards out one at a time. "Oh, and his Starbucks loyalty card."  
"Nick Halden has a Starbucks card?"  
"Why wouldn't he?" Neal returned the cards to the wallet and pulled out the cash, counting it properly.

"Three hundred and forty seven dollars, and some change."  
"It's a shame Nick Halden's too young to have a sixteen year old son, you could tell anyone who asked that the cards belong to your dad."  
Neal looked at her sideways for a moment, then his eyes lit up.

"George Devore is thirty seven." He told her.  
"Who the heck is George Devore?"  
"Peter doesn't know about all of my aliases. George Devore's passport and wallet are at June's place, in my wardrobe. At this age I could pass for his son."  
"Why don't we just tell people you're my nephew?" Elizabeth asked, not keen on constructing a fake family tree when it was so much easier to fabricate a single branch in her own. "I've got a cousin who lives in Texas, for all I know her married name could be Halden, and you're using your dad's credit card while you visit me in New York to look at colleges."

"Elizabeth, I never would have picked you for such a good liar." He was impressed with the speed at which Elizabeth had come up with a plausible explanation for a sixteen year old boy to be traipsing around New York with her. Explaining the tracking anklet might take a little more creative thinking, but Neal managed to keep it concealed as an adult, surely it wouldn't be too hard to keep it out of sight as a teenager. Who knew, maybe a sixteen year old could pass the anklet off as some kind of ironic piece of jewelry.

By the time they got to the Burke's house in Brooklyn Neal was feeling a lot more comfortable, they'd stopped at a store in Brooklyn and he'd spent $50 on some new pants, having to try on a half-dozen sizes before found some that fit properly, had picked out a few shirts and - at Elle's insistence - a pair of pyjamas.  
"You are not sleeping nude in my guest room, Neal." she told him, adding the black sleep pants and t-shirt to the pile on the counter. "What about underwear?"

Neal muttered something incoherent about not wanting superheroes on his butt, and Elizabeth accepted that as a challenge, ducking into the men's department while Neal was distracted by the rack of suit jackets that might fit his slim frame and coming back with underpants emblazoned with every comic book character from Superman to Wolverine.

Neal just looked at her, deadpan for a moment, before she sighed and presented him with three pairs of plain black boxer briefs.

"Can you at least get the Green Lantern? He's my favourite superhero."  
"Fine." Neal huffed, and the woman behind the counter gave Elizabeth a knowing smile - apparently they were passing quite easily for a mother with a cranky teenaged son.

 

It felt good to be in clothes that fit, once Neal had showered and was wearing pants that didn't require rearranging every few seconds, he ventured downstairs to find Elizabeth on her computer, responding to e-mails with some soft music playing in the background.

"Hey."

"Hey, see, I told you those shirts would look good."  
"I still wish you'd let me buy a tie."  
"Neal, what kind of sixteen year old wears a tie?"  
"Haven't you ever seen Gossip Girl? All the guys in that show wear ties."  
"All the guys in that show are twenty-somethings pretending to be teenagers." Elle pointed out. "Have you eaten today? Peter mentioned you had to talk your way out of breakfast."

Neal opened his mouth to answer and his stomach rumbled loudly enough for Elle to hear it, making them both laugh.

"Cereal and juice okay? Peter just called and said he'll be coming home for lunch, we'll be having leftover lasagne, but that won't be for another couple of hours."  
"You stay put, you're working, I know where everything is, I can make my own breakfast."

"Oh, okay." Elle smiled as Neal went into the kitchen, before turning her attention back to the computer.

She was a little distracted as she opened an e-mail from a supplier. The fact that she and Peter didn't have kids had never really been an issue – they'd never actively tried to get pregnant, but since they'd been married there hadn't really been anything in place to prevent it. Remembering Neal's earlier comment about one of his aliases being thirty-seven, and thus old enough to pass as the father of a sixteen year old, Elle realised that, if they could come up with no other explanation, at sixteen years old Neal could well pass for the son she and Peter never had.

An hour later Neal was sprawled on the sofa, flicking through channels and looking every inch the bored teenager. He'd wolfed down three bowls of cereal and half of the jug of orange juice and he was now working his way through a large bag of potato chips. Elizabeth was beginning to believe the rumours about teenage boys eating their own weight in food every week as she watched him.

 

Peter was not happy when he got home just after one PM.

"Dammit, Neal, we really could have used your help today." He muttered, taking a seat at the kitchen table while Elle plated up three servings of lasagne.

"Oh, yes, I did this to myself on purpose, just to annoy you." Neal muttered, getting up from the sofa and slouching over to the dining table and flopping into a chair, a lock of hair falling across his eyes.

"Speaking of how this happened, we might have a lead." Peter took a long drink from the glass of water in front of his place setting, watching with interest as Neal's posture changed dramatically – he sat up straight, brushing the stray hair away from his face and leaning forward to look at Peter properly.

"What do you mean, a lead?"  
"You're not the only person who woke up this morning looking like a sixteen year old."

To say that Neal was shocked was a serious understatement. His mouth was still hanging open when Elle came into the room with their lunches.

"What do you mean; I'm not the only one?"

"A patient at New York Mercy woke up this morning looking like a teenager – they thought there was some sort of prank being pulled except that they did a full DNA work-up and everything matches. There have been four people admitted to other hospitals in similar situations and at least a dozen arrests were made of teenagers this morning accused of breaking into people's homes, and every single one of them insisted that they lived there, and they're actually 32 years old."

"Huh."

For the first time since he had known him, Peter had left Neal speechless. It only lasted a moment, but he definitely did not have a ready response for what Peter had told him.

"So what's going to happen to all of us?" Neal asked, picking up his fork and spearing a piece of salad.

"There's been a request made in Washington for anyone affected to report to the authorities, be it local police or a federal agency."

"Did you tell Reese that I'm affected?"

"I had to, didn't I? He's expecting you to come back with me after lunch."


	3. Chapter 3

Neal felt more than a little awkward, following Peter into the FBI offices not only four inches shorter, but in jeans and a round-necked t-shirt with Mario splashed across his chest - he hadn't thought to get changed before climbing into the Taurus for the ride into the city.

Diana helped, a lot, by greeting him as she would any other day, while the rest of the agents and admin staff stared at him - some had been warned and others hadn't. Those who knew what was going on were interested to see just how different Neal was as a teenager, and those who did not were confused to see Agent Burke being followed by a dark-haired teenager as he crossed the bull-pen and made his way into Reese Hughes' office.

"So, Caffrey, apparently you're not the only person this has happened to." Reese informed him, a little uncomfortable. Reese wasn't used to dealing with children, and he wasn't sure if he should treat Neal like a teenager or an adult.

"If you believe the reports." Neal sat down opposite Hughes and leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together in his lap and watching Reese for any kind of reaction.

"I just got back from one of the hospitals where a few other people with this... condition... are being assessed. Trust me, you're not alone. The CIA want nothing to do with it as the phenomenon seems to be limited to New York, and the NYPD are happy to foist it onto a federal agency, they don't want the headache. So this is, as of an hour ago, officially the FBI's problem."

"And how is the FBI planning on dealing with this problem?" Neal asked, eyebrows raised.

"From what we know there are at least seventy reported cases, and if this is like any other epidemic that means there's at least twice that many that haven't been reported. We're doing a press conference and putting the call out in the media for anyone affected to report to either a police station or a hospital, and we're trying to find a location to house everyone who is like this until we get to the bottom of it. Not many of them want to stay in their own homes at this stage, and the hospitals can't keep them- so far nobody seems to be sick from this."

"Where are we going to put two hundred people?" Peter asked.

"That's what you're going to figure out, we need somewhere relatively secure but also acessible. Caffrey's staying with you, though, even with that anklet on he can cause too much trouble as a teenager."

Neal sighed, resigned. He'd thought that would probably be part of the deal - Hughes was unhappy enough that Neal had a two-mile tether and basically free rein in the city while he was with Peter, the idea of him being housed with a couple of hundred other adults-turned-teenagers was enough to make Reese consider early retirement.

"There's something else, Caffrey." Neal looked up from his lap - he'd been turning his hands over and inspecting them, realising that a couple of scars and blemishes were missing, but his left pinkie was still crooked from where it had been broken his fifth night in prison.

"Yes?"

"You've got a visitor."

"A visitor?"

Hughes picked up his phone and pressed a speed-dial button.

"Jones? Bring her in."

Clinton Jones came up the stairs first, blocking Neal's view of his 'visitor' until she was in the room.

"Hey, Neal."

"Alex?" Neal's mouth fell open in shock, Alex was sixteen, too.

..

..

..

..

..

"I woke up like this, too, Neal. What the hell is going on? I went to see Mozzie and he said that he hadn't seen you all day. He ended up calling Peter after you didn't answer any of your phones, and he sent Jones to come and get me from Friday."

"Mozzie believed that you were... you?"

"Mozzie's known me since I was twelve, he recognised me straight away, Neal." Alex was still standing in the doorway, not letting anyone get between her and the exit.

"Huh. It took me almost an hour to convince him-" Neal jerked his thumb towards Peter, "-that I wasn't part of some con. He fingerprinted me!"

Alex laughed at that, shaking her dark curls down her back. "What did you expect? Getting some teenager to stand in for you is exactly the kind of stupid thing you'd try and pull just because somebody told you they'd never buy it. Remember that thing in Barcelona?"

"Yes, Alex, I remember Barcelona, but I also remember that we are in an FBI office, surrounded by agents, if you don't mind."

Alex laughed again, but changed the subject all the same. "Okay, okay, no more reminiscing. What the heck is going on that is making us look like adolescents?" She addressed the question to the room in general, and was greeted by a silence so thick it could have been cut with a knife.

"So, no leads, I take it?" She stepped past Peter and Jones, sliding into the seat next to Neal and giving him a once-over head-to-toe, half-smiling at him while he blushed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Elizabeth took me shopping." Neal told her, by way of explanation about the Mario t-shirt.

"I'm just glad that I pretty much stopped growing when I was seventeen – and that the boho-chic look is in this season and an oversized shirt doesn't look out of place."

"Elizabeth wouldn't let me get a suit." Neal grumbled. "She told me teenagers don't wear suits these days."

"Hasn't she seen Gossip Girl?"

"That's what I said! I did get a nice shirt, though, and some pyjamas that will fit. I had forgotten how much taller I got during senior year."

The two of them were so immersed in their conversation that it wasn't until Peter said their names that they reliased the 'adults' had been talking over them.

"Come on, Alex, Neal. You're both coming home with me until we get this all sorted out. Alex, do you need to stop anywhere, pick anything up?"

"Uh..." Alex opened her oversized purse and rummaged through it for a moment, before looking up at Peter again. "No, I should be okay for a day or so. If I need to get anything else I've got money."

"Okay, then. Come on you two, I'll give Elle a call and let her know that she's now got two teenagers to deal with, god help her."

"Hang on, I thought I was helping out down here?" Neal demanded, indignant at being left out.

"For the moment we're working with the CDC on this, so unless you're volunteering to be a pin-cushion and subjected to heavy doses of radiation for the next few days, you're coming home with me."

Neal glared at Peter and Clinton stifled a laugh- he'd seen that expression many times on his cousins when his aunt had been forcing them to do something they didn't want to- it would seem that teenaged loathing of authority figures was a universal thing, even if the 'teenager' was really thirty-two.

The glare was transferred to Jones, and Clinton had to leave the room before he began to laugh properly, Hughes didn't take kindly to agents who laughed at situations that were supposed to be serious, and Jones wasn't willing to test his mettle today.

Peter left Hughes' office a few minutes later, Neal and Alex following a few steps behind. Diana caught up with them just as they were about to get into the elevator.

"Boss, we've got a situation."

"Can it wait?"

"It's about the case. We've had a breakthrough, but we need Neal."

"Why do you need Neal?"

"Because his name has come up, and we need to know why."

Peter sighed, looking down at Neal, who was about half a foot lower than Peter was used to.

"One hour, okay? If you haven't got this worked out in one hour we're working from home."

"What about me?" Alex asked, "Am I just supposed to hang around the FBI all afternoon?"

"Can Alex come and help?" Neal asked, eyes wide as he looked up at Peter.

"Fine. I'll meet you both in the conference room, I've got to make a call."


	4. Chapter 4

Peter left Alex and Neal in the conference room, poring over the information that had just come to light and motioned for Diana to join him in the hallway.

"Yeah, boss?"

"Do you have any idea what we're going to do about this?"

zz"About what?" Diana seemed lost. Peter shook his head, trying to clear it. Even Reese seemed to be casually accepting that there was a pair of teenagers helping with their current case, but then again, Reese was one of the few directors at the Bureau who would allow CI's free movement about the building.

"About the fact that Neal is a teenager!"

"Well, he's staying with you, isn't he?"

"Damn, I better call Elle." He pulled his phone from his pocket as Diana grinned, stepping around him to grab a cup of coffee as he waited for his wife to pick up.

"Who exactly is Alex?" Elizabeth wanted to know, once Peter had explained the situation, outlining the approximate number of people seemingly affected by the de-aging phenomenon. Peter took a moment to remind himself that she wasn't always privy to the exact same information he had.

"She's a fence, a friend of Neal and Mozzie's, Reese has asked me to keep an eye on her."

"I'll make up the other guest room." Elle sighed, resigned to the fact that she'd suddenly been thrust into motherhood. She had to admit, being the 'parent' of teenagers probably wouldn't be so bad, at least by the time a kid was sixteen you could have an intelligent conversation.

"What time will you all be home?"

"Hopefully around six, did you want me to pick up dinner?"

 

 

"How exactly are you connected to the theft of gold bullion in the former Soviet Union?" Jones asked Neal, making Alex smirk.

"Shut up." Neal directed at her, before turning his attention back to the file Clinton had handed him. "This is one of my aliases, but it's not my work. This alias got burned in London a good six months before this theft. Do you have anything else on him beside the border records?"

"No, we don't."

"Well you might want to get some, because if the only lead you've got is this name, you're barking up the wrong tree."

"Damn."

Alex was perusing the case file while Neal and Clinton talked and tapped Diana on the shoulder.

"I might be able to help with this."

"What?"

"I can give you the name of the INTERPOL agent who burned this alias."

"How can that help us?"

"Because four months later he was found to be corrupt and kicked out of the agency."

Diana's eyes lit up at this piece of information and she pulled a computer towards her, logging into the FBI database and opening up the worldwide search facility.

 

 

When Peter came back into the conference room to collect the pair of teenagers, he found that Alex had dumped her handbag and jacket in one corner and was reading the screen of laptop over Diana's shoulder while Neal and Jones were standing shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the projector, arguing over one of the names on their list of suspects.

He sighed, resigned himself to his fate, and joined Diana at the conference table as Alex rattled off names and Neal's voice got higher and higher as he fought with Jones, the argument culminating in Neal's voice cracking and squeaking like a rusted wheel and Clinton struggling not to laugh out loud as Neal cursed his adolescent throat.

Peter's phone started buzzing at half past five, making him realise that it *was* half past five, and he made wild gestures with his hands towards the rest of the room as he answered the call.

"Hey, honey, yeah we had a break in the case, we're just leaving the office now... be home soon, hon."

He hit the 'end call' button as he got to his feet, catching Neal by his collar and practically dragging him out the door, Alex following at a rate of knots, having caught the conversation and realised that departure was imminent, something that seemed to have escaped Neal's attention.

"Are you sure you don't need to go anywhere and pick anything up, Alex?" Peter asked as the elevator descended towards the parking garage.

"Depends, where is your house?"

"Brooklyn."

"My current apartment is too far uptown for us to bother tonight – I'll go in the morning."

"Okay." The elevator dinged and they crossed the garage to the black Taurus, Peter allowed himself a moment of mild amusement when there was a scuffle over who got to sit in the front seat before making a ruling – "Neal, can you at least pretend to be a gentleman and let Alex sit in the front?" – and they headed for Brooklyn.

Elle suppressed a grin as the door opened and Peter called out "We're home!" over a pair of younger, higher-pitched voices squabbling.

"Hey, hon. Hi, Neal, Alex."

"Hi Mrs Burke." Alex greeted her, holding out a hand to shake Elizabeth's, a blush rising in her cheeks.

"Call me Elle, sweetie. Dinner's almost ready, I've made up the guest room for you, at the top of the stairs."

"Oh, thanks." Alex glanced at Neal and he rolled his eyes before grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the stairs.

"Fine, I'll show you."

"Dinner's in twenty minutes!" Elle called after them as they thundered towards the second floor, before turning to smile at her husband.

"What are we going to do, Elle?" Peter asked, loosening his tie and stepping forward to embrace her, resting his chin on the top of her head and sighing.

"We're going to have dinner, then you and Neal are going to take Satchmo for his walk."

Peter pulled back to look at her, one eyebrow raised.

"Neal's coming with me to walk the dog?"

"He ate half a box of cereal and two bags of potato chips this morning, Peter. I don't care if he is an adolescent, he needs to get some exercise. Besides, I want to get to know Alex without Neal censoring her."

"What makes you think Neal would censor her?"

"She's a friend of his, Peter, a beautiful young woman who he has stolen things with, and I'm certain that she won't be as circumspect as Mozzie. I'd like to get to know her without Neal interrupting to 'clarify' anything."

Peter laughed, hugging his wife again, and bent down to kiss her properly.

"Do you _really_ have to do that?" Neal demanded from the top of the stairs, making a gagging noise. Peter felt Elle grin against his mouth and went to pull away, meaning to chastise Neal for interrupting, but was stopped by a firm hand on the back of his neck and Elle deepened the kiss, Peter could feel her shaking under his hands, suppressing laughter as Neal came down the stairs, keeping up a steady stream of vomit-noises until they broke apart, bursting into laughter simultaneously.

"It must be the hormones that make them so irritable!" Elle managed to get out, eventually, in between giggles.

"I'm getting out of this suit." Peter muttered, mounting the stairs and taking them two at a time, passing Alex in the hallway and noting that she had changed her shirt. He glanced into the guest room and smiled to himself – her bag and jacket were draped over the chair in one corner and there was a small pile of jewelry on the dresser.

When he returned to the lounge a few minutes later, much more comfortable in sweats and one of his Quantico t-shirts, and found Neal arguing with Elizabeth in the kitchen, while Alex sat at the dining table with a laptop, watching the argument with a bemused smile.

Peter slid into the chair next to Alex, making her jump slightly when he spoke.

"What are they fighting about?"

"Neal wants wine with dinner. Elle says he's a teenager and he's not allowed."

"What do you think?"

"I think that I was doing worse things than drinking wine when I was sixteen." Alex commented.

Peter considered this for a moment before calling out to the pair in the kitchen.

"Hey!"

"What?" Peter shook his head a little as two pairs of brilliant blue eyes turned on him simultaneously – if he hadn't known better he would have no trouble believing that Elle and Neal were mother and son.

"You might think you're thirty-something, Neal, but your body is sixteen. You can have _one_ glass of wine. A small glass." He added, attempting to appease both parties.

Neal huffed, and Elle rolled her eyes, but they stopped arguing.


	5. Chapter 5

'Elle, what are we going to do?'

Peter was wrist-deep in bubbles, washing the wine glasses that were too delicate to go into the dishwasher, while Elle dried them. The 'teenagers' were both sprawled on the couch, Neal was giggling at whatever prime-time sitcom he'd found to watch. Somehow the 'one, small glass' of wine had turned into half the bottle before Peter had realized it, and by Peter's judgment Neal was moving rapidly from tipsy to drunk.

'Well, you're going to take Satchmo for his walk, and Neal's going with you.'

'Are you being deliberately obtuse? Come on, Elle, we've got a pair of teenagers, one of whom is drunk! And both of them think they're in their thirties.'

'Look, honey, what can we do? Take them to a hospital to be turned into pincushions? It's not like we can reverse this, we just need to make the best of the situation.'

Peter sighed, handing Elle the last wine glass and drying his hands on the loose end of the dish towel. 'I guess you're right.'

'I am a brilliant woman.'

'No arguments here.' Peter smiled indulgently at his wife and caught her for a hug, but after a few moments they were forced apart by an enthusiastic, wet nose.

'Yes, yes, time for a walk. Come on, Neal.'

'Aw… do I have to?'

'Come on, Caffrey. Change your shoes, though, you'll wind up with blisters the size of plates if you walk in those.'

 

 

Twenty minutes later Neal and Peter were five blocks away, walking in silence as Satchmo tugged at the leash. Neal has grumbled throughout the entire process of getting ready for the walk, moaning about having to put on sneakers, that he was forced to wear one of Peter's FBI-issued sweaters and finally that the walk route was too far to circuit at that time of night.

Somehow Elle managed to get the pair of them out the door and Peter gave her one last pleading look before she shut the door in his face and Satchmo took advantage of Peter's distraction to almost pull him sideways into the garden bed.

Neal laughed, his inhibitions lowered significantly by the volume of alcohol in his adolescent system, before running halfway up the block and turning around to call to the Labrador, making Peter glower as Satchmo responded with great enthusiasm, bounding after the con-boy and snatching the leash out of Peter's grip as he did.

It took him almost five blocks to catch up with Neal and the dog, he found them sitting on a stoop, Neal laughing as Satchmo licked his hands and face.

'There you are, old man!'

'Don't you 'old man' me, Caffrey, you're less than half my age! My legs don't move like they used to when I was on the track team.'

'Like you were on the track team; Mathletes, maybe, but track? Yeah, right.' Neal told him, with the arrogance born of a natural runner injected into the haughty syllables, not to mention a good dose of Dutch courage from all the wine he'd imbibed.

'Hey, I had to be able to pass a pretty decent fitness test to get into the Bureau.'

'Yeah, forty years ago.'

'How old do you think I am, Caffrey?' Peter joined him on the stoop and caught Satchmo's leash before he could run away again, taking deep breaths to steady himself. He wasn't built for speed; endurance was all well and good, but short bursts like this were starting to take their toll on him. Maybe he should let Jones do the leg-work and take more time in the van for himself.

"I dunno, forty eight?"

Peter raised an eyebrow at Neal, whose lazy grin was bordering on infectious.

"I'll be forty three in a month, thank-you."

"Hey, I'm a teenager, I suck at guessing people's ages. Although, forty three? Man, you're really robbing the cradle with Elle, aren't you?"

"She's thirty five, not nineteen, Neal. Besides, we've been married almost twelve years."

"Yeah, about that..."

"Don't even, Neal." Peter forestalled him, not wanting to discuss his personal life with Neal in the first place, let alone a drunk, teenaged Neal.

"Aw, come on! She told me all about the surveillance photos when I first met her, how much more can I really ask about?"

"Just, don't, okay?"

"Elle told one of the shop assistants that I'm her nephew, and got all pink in the face when the girl said she thought I was her son."

Peter rolled his eyes and wondered exactly how much of this conversation Neal would actually remember.

"Well maybe if this... situation... doesn't right itself we can legally adopt you."

"You mean you'd let me call you Dad!" Neal lurched forward on the stoop so fast that he almost fell onto the pavement. Peter barely managed to catch him by the shoulder and Satchmo looked up from his contemplation of a nearby pigeon at Neals' suddenly raised voice.

"Not on your life, Caffrey. You might look sixteen, but I know how smart you are."

"But you'd let me call Elle mom, right?"

Peter sighed. "You'd have to ask her."

"Oh, awesome. I am so calling her mom when we get home." He got to his feet, a little unsteadily, and dodged around Peter, jogging back down the block towards the Burke house.

"Caffrey! Get back here!" Peter stood up and Satchmo responded to the movement by taking off after Neal, dragging Peter behind him at a rate of knots.


	6. Chapter 6

"You are not calling Elle 'Mom', and that's final."

"Spoilsport."

"Get inside, both of you. And if this isn't all sorted out by tomorrow night, you're walking Satchmo by yourself, five blocks isn't nearly far enough for him."

"Yeah, yeah." Neal opened the Burke's front door and stepped into the lounge room, but stopped short when he saw Elle and Alex leaning over something on the coffee table, heads together as they examined whatever it was.

Alex looked up as Neal and Peter came in, Satchmo pushing past both men and sidling over to Elle's feet, sitting down next to her and resting his head on her knee. She scratched behind his ears absent-mindedly, glancing at the clock then at Peter – he and Neal had barely been gone fifteen minutes.

"He's hammered, Elle. Didn't want to risk him barfing in the neighbors' front yard. I'll take him for a long run with me in the morning, promise."

"Yeah, right." Elle knew she'd end up taking the Labrador out during her lunch break, but as she watched Neal she realized Peter was right, even trying to walk from the front door to the sofa, a distance of barely five yards, Neal was zig-zagging.

"Whatcha looking at, ladies?" he asked, dropping heavily onto the couch next to Alex and leaning over to see what they'd been examining so intently when he'd come inside.

"Nothing important." Elle reached over and closed the album she'd been showing Alex; it was actually their wedding album, and she figured Neal wouldn't care much about that event.

"Yeah, right." Neal yawned as he spoke and Alex rolled her eyes.

"It's barely nine, Neal, what the hell are you yawning for?"

"I just ran five blocks!"

"Hey, I had to chase after you, you're the one who decided to sprint all the way home."

"I know, I nearly overshot the house."

"I saw, you're lucky you didn't knock that woman over."

"She was fine."

"You're drunk."

"Yes, yes I am." Neal leaned back and stretched his arm along the back of the couch, catching Alex around her shoulders and pulling her against his chest, burying his face in her hair.

"You smell pretty…"

"Yep. Definitely drunk. He starts sniffing people, it's weird, actually." Alex told their hosts, trying to twist out of Neal's arms, but he was still bigger than her, and apparently stronger than his small frame let on.

"Sniffing people?" Peter asked, one eyebrow going up. This was definitely something to let Diana know, not least so that they could both tease Neal about it later.

"He's been beaten up for complimenting girls on how they smell."

"Only because the thugs thought that I was hitting on their girlfriends when I complimented them."

"You did deserve it that one time."

"Yeah, but she smelled like cherry cola and wouldn't tell me what perfume it was!"

"I still don't know why you were so determined to find out."

"It smelled nice! You know I love cherry cola."

"I know you stole my chap-stick."

"Heh. Yeah, I did. Right out of your skirt pocket. You never even felt my hand, right there…" Apparently drunk Neal was also quite handsy; his hand drifted from Alex's shoulder, down her arm and towards her hip, illustrating just where the pocket had been on the mini-skirt he'd lifted her lip gloss out of.

"That's it. Bedtime!" Peter thundered.

He'd had enough. This day had been dragging on for what felt like months, and a drunk, sixteen-year-old Neal Caffrey flirting with another teenager on his couch was about his limit.

"Oh, come on! It's not even late!" Neal objected.

"Yeah, I know, but I also know that Hughes will want us at the office before eight, so that means you'll be up by six. Especially if all three of us have to shower."

"I'll shower tonight." Alex volunteered, looking for an opportunity to extricate herself from Neal, who still had one arm snaked around her waist, and was resting his forehead on her shoulder, looking over at Peter with what he was hoping were puppy-dog eyes.

"That sounds great. Come on, I'll get you a towel and show you where you'll be sleeping. Do you need pyjamas?" Elle got up and Alex followed, standing so fast that Neal fell sideways onto the sofa as she stepped away.

"I've got a t-shirt I can sleep in." She followed Elle up the stairs, leaving Peter and Neal alone in the lounge.

"Elle bought you some pyjamas today, didn't she?"

"Yep. She put them in my bedroom."

"You mean she put them in the guest room upstairs."

"The blue bedroom, my room. I've slept there like five times, Peter, it's my room. Admit it."

"I won't admit anything. Go to bed."

"Aw, I don't want to…"

"Caffrey, I've got fifty pounds and eight inches on you now, I could put you over my shoulder and carry you up those stairs if you'd prefer."

"Fine, fine. Mean father-figure, making me go to bed before ten, not even a school night…" Neal muttered, well aware that Peter could hear every word.

Luckily for Neal, Peter had a sense of humor, and let it slide. Neal would keep, and if Peter's memory served him well, he'd get his own back in the morning. He remembered the first hangover he'd ever experienced, at seventeen years old after half of a bottle of stolen red wine.

He chuckled as Neal mounted the stairs, still muttering about how unfair life was, and headed into the kitchen, thinking he could actually use a drink himself, and pulled the bottle of Jack Daniels down from the shelf above the refrigerator, pouring himself a single measure and taking a slow sip. It was something he enjoyed on a rare occasion, but he felt after the stress of his day he deserved something.

Elle came back downstairs and found him sitting at the dining table, leaning back in his chair and enjoying his whiskey.

"Did you at least pour me one of those?"

"Of course." He pushed the other glass towards her and Elle took it, smiling at her husband.

"I love you." Peter told her after they'd sat in a companionable silence for a few minutes, sipping their drinks.

"I love you, too, honey."


	7. Chapter 7

"Neal. Neal!" Alex rocked on her heels as she leaned down next to Neal, sprawled out on the bed in the Burke's main guest room. She'd risked a lot coming in here at this hour, the wrath of both 'adults' in the house, not to mention discovery by a certain golden Labrador.

In her view, that was the biggest problem with being, or appearing to be, sixteen. No privacy to speak of. She was struggling to remember when and if she'd managed any alone time with, well, anyone, besides her parents, at this age.

Nobody sprang to mind, except the boyfriend she'd met senior year, Mickey.

Even then she'd been forced to sneak out of the house at ridiculous hours, not to mention cut classes, to spend any time with him alone.

"Neal, wake up."

She didn't get any real response, other than Neal screwing his nose up, grunting and shifting slightly in his sleep.

This was going to take desperate measures. Taking a deep breath, Alex leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, briefly.

True to form, this bought Neal out of whatever dream he'd been enjoying, as she drew back he lifted himself out of the bed, trying to keep his mouth in contact with hers.

"Neal." She said, voice firmer. He cracked one eye at her and flopped back onto the pillow.

"Alex?" he asked, sounding almost disappointed.

"Yes, Alex. Who were you dreaming about?"

"Never mind. Is it time to get up already?" He stretched one arm above his head and glanced at the digital clock next to Alex's head.

"Three AM? What the hell, Alex?" He flung one arm over his eyes and rolled away from her, feeling the beginnings of a headache building.

"I needed to talk to you, alone." She was sitting on the floor next to the bed, now, legs crossed.

"Okay, it couldn't wait?"

"You seriously think that the Burke's are going to let us spend any time alone, unsupervised? We look like teenagers."

"Yeah, but we're not."

"Have they let you out of their collective sight since you convinced Peter that you're you?"

Neal considered this, and conceded the point.

"Fair enough. What's so urgent that it can't wait until morning?"

"I just wanted to talk. Shove over."

Neal rolled his eyes, but shifted sideways in the bed, allowing Alex enough space to climb up and snuggle against him.

"You really do smell good, you know." He murmured, pressing his face into her hair as she rested her cheek on his chest.

"I only showered a couple of hours ago, Neal."

"I know… mmm…" Neal slid an arm around Alex's waist and gave her a squeeze, before pulling back and making direct eye contact.

"What's going on, Alex?"

"What are we going to do, Neal?"

"Tonight? Well, I don't have any-"

"No, we're not doing that tonight, Neal! I mean, what if this turns out to be permanent?" She gestured at their bodies, encompassing the entire bizarre situation with one sweeping movement.

"Well, Peter said that he and Elle might adopt me."

"Yeah, and what happens to me? I go into foster care?"

"Mozzie could adopt you."

"According to the government, Mozzie doesn't even exist."

"What about your parents?" Neal asked, but knew it was pointless even as he voiced the question.

"What about them? My father refused to acknowledge my existence even when presented with DNA results, and Mom died almost twenty years ago. I've been through the system once, Neal, and it messed me up badly enough then. Going through it again might…" her voice broke, and Neal wrapped both his arms around her, pulling her close and murmuring into her hair as she began to shake, crying against him.

"Shh… Alex, I'll never let that happen. I promise, no matter what. If I have to blackmail Peter into it, you're not going back." He kept his lips pressed to the top of her head and rubbed her back as her sobs slowly died down, and she snuggled into him.

After a few minutes, Neal felt his eyes sliding closed, and realized that he had to get Alex up – if the Burke's found them like this in the morning then there'd be hell to pay. Heck, even if he'd been his usual age, there would have been raised eyebrows at Alex spending the night in his bed while they were guests.

"Alex, you probably need to go back…"

"I know. Thanks, Neal."

"Anytime."

She stretched up and kissed him lightly on the cheek, before rolling off the bed and tiptoeing back to her own bedroom.

Neal rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, sliding his hand along the warm patch of bed Alex had left in her wake.

What were they going to do? He had no idea why he was like this, or how they were going to fix it. But surely, with a few hundred people affected, there would be some sort of program put in place? Not every 32-year-old had living parents, or a spouse. Most 32-year-olds had jobs, rents to pay, families to support.

The logistical nightmare of appearing to be half your age aside, Neal was rapidly realizing that Alex wasn't alone in having nowhere to go. His own parents were completely out of the picture, and his current sources of income were questionable enough for an adult; a teenager doing the things he was doing would just be begging for trouble.

Maybe he would take Peter up on his offer of adoption, there were worse fates than having the Burkes for parents.

Now that Alex had woken him up, he found himself unable to settle. He hadn't seen Mozzie, just sent him a text message once Alex had told him that Neal was in the same situation. Mozzie wanted to meet both of them, somewhere in the city, that afternoon. That in itself was going to be difficult – Neal seriously doubted that Peter was going to let him out of his sight, and was predicting that Mozzie would be equally unwilling to meet with the Suit in attendance. It might be easier for Alex to get away, but Neal wanted to see his friend, too.

He stretched again and his fingers brushed the wallet on the nightstand, the one belonging to Nick Halden, and he narrowed his eyes, thinking.

If he could just get back to the apartment… he'd be able to get some more cash, liquid assets. He had the anklet – thinking about it, he twitched his ankle and almost out of habit bought his left foot up to tug at it, but it still refused to budge – surely Peter couldn't object to him seeing June?

He rolled over to face the wall and tried not to think too hard about what might happen, his chest had begun to constrict and he'd had trouble breathing while Alex had been crying against him. The less he thought about the future, the easier it would be to sleep. Heck, if he was lucky, he'd wake up in his own bed at June's place, in his favourite blue pyjamas, and would discover that all of this had just been some kind of convoluted nightmare.

He sighed.

No, his luck simply wasn't that good. He pinched the skin on the inside of his wrist and the pain that shot up his arm was definitely real.

It took him almost another hour to get back to sleep.


End file.
